LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Cou 


CALIFORNIA   VIOLETS 


CALIFORNIA    VIOLETS 


A   BOOK    OF   VERSE 


BY 

GRACE    HIBBARD 


0--    T.,E        f       X 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

A.    M.    ROBERTSON 

1902 


GENERAL 


Copyright,  igoi 
by  A.  M.  Robertson 


The  Murdoch  Press 
San  Francisco 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PRELUDE 9 

LITTLE  SOLDIER II 

LEST  THE  LOVED  DEAD  COME  BACK  AGAIN  ...  12 

A  WHITE   CHRYSANTHEMUM 13 

UNDER  THE  PINES 14 

BUT   PAINTED    SHADOWS  UPON  THE  WALL  ....  17 

IN   THE   STARLIGHT  WITH  YOU l8 

ONLY  A   FLOWER l8 

THE  ENGINEER'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER 19 

HOPE 21 

LOVE'S  IMMORTALITY 22 

BLUEBELLS 26 

MY  LITTLE  LOVE 26 

SOMEWHERE,  SOMEWHERE 27 

PICTURE   OF  A  COLONIAL  CHRISTMAS   EVE  ....  28 

HE  CAME  TO  ME  IN  A  DREAM  LAST  NIGHT  ...  29 

WILD  ROSES 30 

WHERE  SHIPS  SAIL  BY 32 

IN  THE  GARDEN 32 

A  PAGAN  WOMAN'S  PRAYER  TO  THE  SUN  ....  33 

SUSPENSE 34 

DOWN  BY  THE  SUMMER  SEA 35 

ANGEL  OF  DEATH 36 


118978 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THEN  AND  NOW , 37 

LAST  NIGHT  I  DREAMED  OF  THEE 37 

GOD'S  MESSENGER 38 

DAFFODILS 39 

"NIGHT'S  CANDLES  ARE  BURNED  OUT."  ....  40 

WILD  VIOLETS 41 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SPRING 42 

ALL  THAT    REMAINS 46 

ROUNDHEAD  AND  CAVALIER 47 

BLUEBELL  CHIMES 48 

FROM  OUT  HEAVEN'S  DOOR 50 

MY  HEART'S  CALENDAR 50 

REST 51 

THE  SUN  HAS  GONE  DOWN      .     , 52 

SAINT  BARBARA I  53 

WAITING  FOR  COLIN       54 

GOLDEN   BUTTERCUPS 56 

NOT  FOR   ME 57 

POSSIBILITIES 58 

WHENCE  AND  WHITHER? 59 

AFLOAT 60 

NO   ROOM   AT  THE  INN 60 

TO  THE  MINIATURE   OF  DOROTHY  WENTWORTH.  .  6l 

LANDSCAPE 63 

MY  TRAVELER 63 

THE  OLD  SLAVE'S  LAMENT 64 

WILD  POPPIES 65 

RE-CREATION 66 

A  RED  ROSE 67 

CAST  AWAY 68 

IF  .  .                                               68 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MEMORIAL  DAY 69 

ON  THE  BEACH 70 

FOR   THE  BOY  IS  AWAY 71 

SUNSET  AT  THE  GOLDEN   GATE     ........  72 

MARIPOSA  LILIES 72 

SO   LONG  AGO 73 

AN  UNFINISHED   SONG 74 

FOR  GOD'S  GLORY 75 

COUPLET 76 

GOOD-NIGHT  !    GOOD-NIGHT  ! 76 

A  ROSE-JAR 77 

THROUGH   MY  EASTERN  WINDOW 78 

MY   PLAYMATE 79 

SYMPATHY 8l 

A  WINTER'S  DAY 82 

WAITING 84 

IF  EVERY  SOUND   WERE  STILLED 84 

JUNE 85 

A  KISS 86 

WINDS  FROM  THE  SEA 86 

A  SPARROW'S  FALL 87 

ELUSIVE 87 

MY   STAR 88 

DANDELION  DOWN 89 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  .     .     .    .    , 90 

AWAKE 91 

AT   BETHLEHEM 92 

THE  MAN  WITHOUT  THE   HOE 94 

TOO  SOON 96 

ANCESTOR   MINE 97 

CONCEALING,    REVEALING 98 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DO  THEY   KNOW? 99 

COMPENSATION IOO 

BEREAVED IOO 

ROSES  THAT  CLIMB  THE  WALL IOI 

"THE  SHADOW  OF  A  GREAT  ROCK  IN  A  WEARY 

LAND  " 102 

AWAY  FROM  HOME IO3 

THE  WICKED  TYPHO IO3 

MY  MOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY 104 

CALIFORNIA  VIOLETS 105 

METEMPSYCHOSIS IO6 

JAPANESE  LOVE-SONG IO7 

"A   CASTLE  IN  SPAIN" Io8 

CHOOSING   A    DESTINY 109 

SOMETIME 1 10 

HIS   LITTLE  SUN-BROWNED   HAT 113 


PRELUDE 

Because  you  mirror  the  skies 
In  color  of  heavert  s  own  blue, — 
For  your  sweet  and  dainty  selves, 
Violets,  I  love  you. 

For  thoughts  of  a  sylvan  home, 
For  forest  trees  gemmed  with  dew, 
For  sake  of  the  Giver  kind, 
Violets,   I  love  you. 


LITTLE  SOLDIER 

I  HOLD  my  little  soldier's  hat 
With  fond,  caressing  hand; 

I  smooth  the  nodding  feather  out, 
And  then  the  twisted  band. 

He  ever  was  "a  soldier  boy," 
A  c  *  Captain, ' '  in  his  play  ; 

The  pretty  toy  —  his  fallen  sword — 
I  cannot  hide  away. 

Defying  Time — the  enemy — 
That  heals  the  wounded  heart, 

His  tiny  cannon  aimless  stands 
From  other  toys  apart. 

Outside,  upon  the  lilac-bush, 

His  plaything  flag  I  see; 
A  storm  has  dimmed  its  colors  bright, 

As  life  is  dimmed  for  me. 


ii 


LEST  THE  LOVED  DEAD  COME  BACK 
AGAIN 

LEST  the  loved  dead  come  back  again, 

Groping  their  way  through  the  infinite  space, 

Snatching  a  torch  from  among  the  bright  stars, 
To  light  a  pathway  unto  thy  face; 

Lest  they  come  back  with  unheard  tread  — 

Be  faithful  ever  unto  your  dead. 

Lest  the  loved  dead  come  back  again 
Wearying  for  you  in  the  world  of  bliss, 

Longing  to  wreathe  you  with  unseen  arms, 
To  seal  you  their  own  with  the  old-time  kiss; 

And  with  white  fingers  your  hair  to  thread  — 

Be  faithful  ever  unto  your  dead. 

Lest  your  loved  dead  come  back  again, 
Let  not  your  heart  to  the  living  stray. 

Lest  a  star-torch  fall  from  cold,  white  hands, 
Lest  despairing  the  loved  dead  turn  away; 

Lest  they  come  back  with  unheard  tread — 

Be  faithful  ever  unto  your  dead. 


12 


A   WHITE   CHRYSANTHEMUM 

LAST  night  beside  my  hearthstone 

She  sat  in  snowy  dress; 
The  firelight  touched  her  golden  hair 

With  many  a  fond  caress. 

She  wore  white  autumn  flowers, 
Like  frozen  stars  they  seemed; 

One  flower  she  left,  else  I  should  think 
Of  angels  I  had  dreamed. 


UNDER   THE   PINES 

BEFORE  the  grate  in  the  firelight, 

On  the  night  when  the  year  grows  old, 

Watching  the  smoke  curl  phantom-like 
And  the  coals  turn  to  living  gold, 

I  sit  and  dream  as  I  listen 

To  sweet  clamor  of  New  Year  chimes, 
And  whisper  low  the  vows  I  made 

In  the  moonlight  under  the  pines. 

I  have  left  the  dazzling  ballroom, 

Decked  in  jewels  that  brightly  gleam; 

In  my  dress  of  pearl-white  satin 
I  have  come  to  my  room  to  dream. 

I  have  left  music  and  dancing, 
The  soft,  perfumed  tropical  air, 

The  eyes  and  the  voices  that  told  me, 
"The  rose  of  the  mountains  is  fair." 

14 


UNDER  THE  PINES 

Once  more  I  am  Mabel,  daughter 

Of  "Old  Ben"  of  the  Blue  Bell  claim. 

I  hear  my  boy-lover  asking, 

"Wild  rose,  will  you  love  me  the  same 

"When  you  go  to  your  father's  sister, 

To  the  city  so  far  away? 
Will  my  '  Blue  Bird '  of  the  mountains 

Come  back  to  the  home-nest  some  day  ?  ' ' 

Upon  our  sure-footed  ponies 

Up  the  zigzag  canon  wild, 
We  had  wandered  to  gather  flowers, 

In  the  twilight  of  springtime  mild. 

The  giant  peaks  in  the  gloaming 
Seemed  touching  the  shining  stars, 

The  moonlight  upon  the  pine-trees 
Turned  their  branches  to  golden  bars. 

I  answered  with  hand  uplifted, 

* '  Just  as  long  as  the  North  Star  shines 

I  will  keep  the  vow  I  made  you 
In  the  moonlight  under  the  pines." 

So  I  've  left  the  dazzling  ballroom, 

Decked  in  jewels  that  flash  and  gleam; 

15 


UNDER  THE  PINES 

In  my  dress  of  pearl-white  satin, 
I  have  come  to  my  room  to  dream. 

I  kneel  in  the  glowing  firelight, 
As  I  listen  to  New  Year  chimes, 

And  whisper  low  the  vows  I  made 
In  the  moonlight  under  the  pines. 


16 


BUT   PAINTED    SHADOWS  UPON   THE 
WALL 

OF  the  dear  eyes  and  lips  that  told  us 
In  love's  fond  language  we  were  their  all, 

Naught  is  there  left  our  hearts  to  comfort 
But  painted  shadows  upon  the  wall. 

Vainly  we  gaze  with  eyes  o'erflowing, 
Vainly  their  loved  names  gently  we  call, 

Begging  one  word — alas,  they  speak  not, 
Those  painted  shadows  upon  the  wall. 

Pictures  of  eyes  and  smiles  most  tender, 
Days  of  the  happy  past  ye  recall, 

And  earth  holds  naught  to  us  so  precious 
As  painted  shadows  upon  the  wall. 


IN  THE  STARLIGHT  WITH  YOU 

OUT  in  the  starlight  and  half-tropic  sweetness, 
'Neath  skies  of  soft  azure  deep'ning  in  hue, 

Up  to  the  zenith' s  shimmering  darkness, 
Out  in  the  starlight  walking  with  you. 

Out  in  the  starlight,  'mid  incense  of  flowers, 
Winging  its  way  to  the  infinite  blue, 

Just  for  one  moment  forgetting  life's  sorrows, 
Out  in  the  starlight  walking  with  you. 


ONLY  A  FLOWER 

A  FLOWER  lay  in  the  dust 

On  a  crowded  city  street; 
Like  a  fallen  star  it  seemed 

Trampled  by  passing  feet. 
Crushed  were  its  silvery  rays, 

And  broken  its  golden  heart; 
In  the  glory  of  summertime, 

It  could  nevermore  have  a  part. 


18 


THE  ENGINEER'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER 

WHERE  far  away  the  two  long  tracks 

Seem  running  into  one, 
I  watch  and  watch  for  father's  train 

At  setting  of  the  sun. 

I  seem  a  giant  as  I  stand, 

My  shadow  at  my  side; 
The  engine  just  a  tiny  dot 

Upon  the  prairie  wide. 

But  oh,  it  grows  and  grows  and  grows 

Into  a  monster  high, 
Flying  a  silver  banner  out 

Against  the  eastern  sky. 

My  father  't  is  the  engine  drives, — 

He  watches  out  for  me; 
And  whistles  by  the  willow- trees, 

To  let  me  know  't  is  he. 

He  takes  me  on  the  engine  tall; 

I  ride  when  it  goes  slow, 
Backing  about  from  track  to  track, 

Taking  on  freight,  you  know. 

19 


THE  ENGINEER'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER 

I  love  my  father  very  much, 
And  when  he  kisses  me 

I  never  mind  that  he  is  black 
And  leaves  the  black  on  me. 

When  I  go  home  my  mother  dear 
Speaks  soft  and  low  to  me, 

And  kisses  me — I  wonder  why — 
Just  where  the  black  spots  be. 


20 


HOPE 

THERE  's  never  a  day  so  dark  and  drear 

But  that  its  close  may  shine 
In  rose  and  gold  and  amethyst, 

And  tints  of  ruby  wine. 

There  's  never  a  night  so  wrapped  about 

In  mist  and  drifting  rain, 
But  that  the  clouds  may  roll  away 

And  stars  look  out  again. 


21 


LOVE'S    IMMORTALITY 

IN  far-off  classic  land, 
Blazing  torch  in  her  hand, 

On  a  high  tower, 
Stood  Hero,  young  and  fair, 
With  halo  of  bright  hair, 

At  the  midnight  hour. 

Out  on  the  inky  night 
Fluttered  the  red  torch-light, 

To  guide  her  lover. 
Flaring  in  the  keen  blast, 
Then  lost,  like  star  o'ercast, 

Held  high  above  her. 

Not  half  a  year  ago 

In  vestal  robes  like  snow, 

To  sound  of  lyres, 
Upon  an  altar  bright, 
On  Venus'  festal  night, 

She  fed  the  fires. 

22 


LOVE'S    IMMORTALITY 

Child  of  a  noble  Greek, 
With  face  of  virgin  meek, 

Eyes  of  heaven's  blue. 
'Mid  clouds  of  incense  rare, 
She  stood  a  priestess  fair, 

To  the  goddess  true. 

Love  made  her  vows  as  naught, 
Sweet  lesson  she  was  taught 

In  one  short  hour. 
Dark  eyes  of  Thracian  youth, 
Told  her  the  wondrous  truth 

Of  love's  grand  power. 

Banished  to  island  lone, 
To  castle  ivy-grown, 

Alone  they  left  her. 
Love  can  bridge  water  wide ; 
So,  soon  to  Hero's  side, 

Came  young  Leander. 

Swimming  the  Hellespont 
Nightly  became  his  wont 

To  Hero's  tower. 
First,  by  the  moon's  pale  light, 
Making  a  pathway  bright, 

At  moonrise  hour. 

23 


LOVE'S    IMMORTALITY 

But  came  a  stormy  night, 
With  lightnings  flashing  bright, 

And  sad  winds  wailing. 
Moonless  and  starless  sky, 
Black  clouds  o'er  gray  sky  fly,- 

Pirate  ships  sailing. 

Love  can  make  darkness  light; 
Out  on  the  stormy  night, 

Hero's  torch  flashes. 
Leander  sees  the  gleam, 
And  in  the  angry  stream 

Heedlessly  dashes. 

Pitiless  breakers  roar, 
Louder  than  e'er  before 

Seem  to  the  swimmer. 
Darker  the  gray  sky  grows, 
Wilder  the  storm-wind  blows, 

Hero's  light  dimmer. 

She  from  her  tower  prays 
Goddess  of  her  young  days 

To  save  her  lover. 
Brighter  the  lightnings  flash, 
Louder  the  breakers  dash, 

No  stars  above  her. 


24 


LOVE'S    IMMORTALITY 

Down  on  the  rocks  below, 
'Mid  breakers  white  as  snow, 

There  he  lies  dying. 
Down  to  his  side  she  leaps, 
Torch  in  her  hand  she  keeps, 

Meteor  flying. 

Long  line  of  golden  light, 
Lighting  fair  Hero's  flight, 

Through  death's  dark  portal. 
Such  love  that  does  not  shrink 
Even  from  death's  dread  brink, 

Must  be  immortal. 


BLUEBELLS 

THE  unseen  fingers  of  the  air 

Set  all  the  bluebells  ringing. 
My  thoughts  like  birds  that  homeward  fly, 

Across  the  sea  went  winging 

To  "banks  and  braes"    where   bluebells 
grow, 

'Neath  trees  where  birds  are  singing. 
Their  home  and  mine  —  did  others  hear 

The  bonnie  bluebells  ringing  ? 


MY    LITTLE    LOVE 

MY  little  love  has  a  bonnie  face, 
Laughing  eyes  of  sky-tinted  blue; 

Wind-tousled  curls,  full  tangled  weel, — 
That  is  the  picture,  wee  bairn,  of  you. 

Kiltie  suit  of  his  father's  clan, 

Stockings  of  plaid,  and  shoes  na  new, 
Chubby  knees  with  a  tinge  of  brown, — 

That  is  the  picture,  wee  bairn,  of  you. 


SOMEWHERE,    SOMEWHERE 

MEMORIAL    VERSES 

IN  a  far-off  land  where  never  the  sun 
Shines  on  a  tress  of  golden  hair, 

Where  never  a  daisy  stars  green  fields, 
Or  violet  perfumes  the  springtide  air, 
A  soldier  sleeps  —  somewhere,  somewhere. 

In  a  far-off  land  where  faces  are  dark, 
And  the  tiger  springs  from  its  jungle  lair, 

Where  dull-gold  stars  are  in  tropic  skies, 
And  never  a  blossom  is  scattered,  there 
A  soldier  sleeps  —  somewhere,  somewhere. 


PICTURE    OF    A    COLONIAL    CHRIST- 
MAS    EVE. 

AN  ancient  clock  in  the  corner  stands, 
There  are  pewter  dishes  on  dresser  tall, 

And  firearms  of  the  old-time  war 
Are  crossed  together  upon  the  wall. 

The  moonlight  a  silver  pathway  makes 
In  slanting  brightness  across  the  floor, 

And  the  fitful  flare  of  firelight, 

Casts  wild,  weird  shadows  upon  the  door. 

Into  the  window  a  rosebud  peeps, 
Wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  fleecy  snow, 

And  the  house-cat  in  a  high-backed  chair, 
Sleeps  in  the  firelight's  cheerful  glow. 

Before  two  stockings  of  scarlet  wool, 
With  tender  light  in  her  eyes  of  brown, 

Stands  a  mother,  slight  and  young  and  fair, 
In  snowy  kerchief  and  homespun  gown. 


28 


HE  CAME  TO  ME  IN   A  DREAM   LAST 
NIGHT. 

HE  came  to  me  in  a  dream  last  night, 
He  whom  I  love,  my  sainted  dead ; 

He  kissed  my  forehead,  he  kissed  my  hands, 
And  many  a  loving  word  he  said. 

I  told  him  that  long  the  years  had  been, 
That  no  other  held  in  my  heart  his  place, 

That  'twas  joy  to  hear  his  well-loved  voice, 
It  was  joy  to  see  his  well-loved  face. 

I  woke  at  twitter  of  wild-bird's  notes, 
Awoke  at  touch  of  a  lance  of  light ; 

My  heart  is  glad,  for  I  know  he  lives,  — 
He  came  to  me  in  a  dream  last  night. 


29 


WILD   ROSES 

TO-NIGHT  before  the  bright  footlights, 
Decked  with  jewels  that  flash  and  gleam, 

In  robe  of  velvet  and  ermine, 
I  played  the  part  of  a  queen. 

Far  upward  my  voice  soared  birdlike 
Till  it  seemed  to  reach  the  blue  sky, 

Then  changed  to  notes  low  and  plaintive, 
Like  the  soft  summer  wind's  low  sigh. 

Before  me  were  beautiful  women, 
The  cultured,  the  stately,  the  grand; 

There  were  men  of  wealth  and  fashion 
Who  had  begged  me  for  my  hand 

At  my  feet  fell  fairest  of  flowers 
That  perfumed  the  tropical  air; 

In  one  was  hidden  a  jewel 

That  shone  in  the  gaslight's  bright  glare. 

30 


WILD  ROSES 

Some  one  tossed  a  few  wild  roses, 
But  little  the  dazzling  crowd  guessed 

Why  the  others  I  left  unnoticed 

And  clasped  them  fondly  to  my  breast. 

Again  I  was  poor  little  Inez, 

The  fisherman's  child  by  the  sea; 

The  cluster  of  wild  pink  roses 

Brought  a  moonlight  picture  to  me. 

The  round  moon  upon  the  waters 
Made  a  pathway  of  golden  light; 

Across  it  a  ship  was  sailing  — 
I  was  watching  it  out  of  sight. 

In  that  brave  ship  my  boy  lover 
Sailed  away  out  into  the  night; 

I  held  in  my  hands  wild  roses 

As  I  watched  it  vanish  from  sight. 

To-night,  not  knowing,  not  dreaming, 
I  sang  to  one  just  home  from  sea; 

'  T  was  the  hand  of  my  boy  lover 
Tossed  the  sweet  wild  roses  to  me. 


WHERE  SHIPS   SAIL   BY 

OUT  on  the  rocks  by  the  blue  summer  sea, 
In  the  sound  of  waves,  and  a  seagull's  cry, 

With  the  round  moon  rising  behind  the  hills, 
She  watched  alone  where  the  ships  sail  by. 

In  the  hush  of  twilight  on  land  and  sea, 
With  fluttering  canvas  a  ship  drew  nigh, 

Full-freighted  with  hope,  and  with  love  and  joy,- 
Alas,  poor  watcher,  the  ship  sailed  by. 


IN   THE   GARDEN 

SHE  seemed  a  lily  in  the  garden  standing, 
That  maiden  graceful,  tall,  and  fair, 

Or  like  a  saint  from  out  some  missal,  painted 
With  sunbeam  halo  resting  on  her  hair. 

O  roses  snowy  white,  and  lilies  queenly, 

O  sweet  white  violets,  you  are  wondrous  fair; 

But  she  was  fairer  in  the  garden  standing 
With  sunbeam  halo  resting  on  her  hair. 


A    PAGAN    GIRL'S    PRAYER    TO    THE 

SUN 

(B.  c.  500) 

O  SUN,  thou  god  whom  for  ages  my  people 
Have  worshiped,  low  in  the  sky  o'er  the  sea, 
There  thou  hangest,  a  red  ball  of  fire, 
Tarry,  oh  tarry,  and  listen,  I  pray  thee. 

Thou  who  lightest  up  dark  places  with  sunbeams, 
Thou  who  paintest  the  flowers  and  rainbows, 
Thou  who  fillest  with  sunlight  o'erflowing 
The  cup  of  the  lotus,  list  to  my  sorrows. 

O  bright  Sun,  thou  hast  left  me, — thou  hast  fallen 
Down  into  the  waves.    Thy  blood  stains  the  sky 
In  the  west,  and  lies  red  on  the  waters — 
Thou  heardst  not  my  sorrow,  nor  answered  my 
prayer. 


33 


SUSPENSE 

THE  sky  and  the  sea,  like  two  nuns, 

Wear  mantles  of  gray; 
And  like  a  black  cross  seem  the  masts 

And  the  yards  of  a  ship  far  away. 

Is  it  coming,  coming  to  me, 

This  heavy  black  cross  ? 
Shall  the  hopes  and  the  joys  of  my  life 

Suffer  pitiful  shipwreck  and  loss  ? 

The  ship,  like  a  bird  on  the  wing, 

Seems  only  to  stay. 
Alas,  it  is  coming!  —  it  tacks, — 

O,  thank  God,  it  is  sailing  away  ! 


34 


DOWN   BY  THE  SUMMER  SEA 

DREAM  dreams,  fair  waking  dreams, 

Down  by  the  summer  sea; 
Let  the  unseen  choir  of  waves 

Sing  many  a  song  to  thee — 

Songs  of  infinity. 

Of  skies  and  seas  that  blend 

On  the  horizon  far, 
Where  twilight's  pale-gold  ladder  leads 

Up  to  the  Evening  Star, 

Shining  alone,  afar. 

List  to  the  undertone 

Of  waters  deep  and  low; 
To  the  soft  rythm  of  the  waves, 

To  the  high  staccato, 

Coming  whence  none  may  know. 

There  let  the  voice  of  God 

Speak  of  His  majesty 
In  the  weird  voices  of  the  waves; 

Speak  holy  words  to  thee, 

Down  by  the  summer  sea. 

35 


ANGEL   OF   DEATH 

COME  unto  me  as  the  moonlight  comes, 
Filling  the  earth  with  its  silvery  light. 

Come,  as  over  the  roses  of  June 

Zephyrs  come  wafting  in  gentlest  flight. 

Show  unto  me  the  ''fluttering  sail" 

The  living  see  not  in  the  ' ( ebbing  tide, ' ' 

Whisper  to  me  that  my  loved  ones  wait 

With  their  arms  outstretched  on  the  ' '  other 
side." 

And  lay  on  my  wildly  throbbing  heart 
Thy  hand  to  quiet,  to  sooth,  to  calm, 

As  the  harpist  on  the  quivering  strings 
Of  the  harp  he  plays  lays  his  open  palm. 

Sing  as  I  fall  in  the  '  *  dreamless  sleep ' ' 
Earth's  last  sweet  lullaby,  softly  and  low, 

Let  thy  dusky,  trailing  garments  gleam 

In  the  "border  land"  like  the  drifted  snow. 

Be  thou  my  guide  to  the  "City  fair,"  — 
For  thou  mayst  not  enter  within  the  gate, — 

And  place  my  hand  e'er  you  turn  to  go 
In  the  hand  of  one  who  for  me  doth  wait. 

36 


THEN   AND   NOW 

THE  round  full  moon, 

So  bold  and  so  bright, 
That  mirrors  the  sun, 

And  is  " Queen  of  Night," 
In  the  zenith  high 

Was  a  tangled  thread 
Amid  clouds  of  white, 

Was  a  silver  bow, 
An  arrow  of  light, 

In  yester- week's  sky. 


LAST    NIGHT  I    DREAMED    OF  THEE 

LAST  night  I  dreamed  of  thee. 

Sweet  half-remembered  words 
Thou  saidst  came  back  to  me, 

Thy  kiss  upon  my  brow, 
The  sunlight  of  thy  smile, 

Thy  touch  —  once  real — but  now 
A  dream. 


37 


GOD'S   MESSENGER 

DAY  has  opened  her  bright  eyes, 
There's  a  mist- veil  o'er  the  skies, 

And  upon  the  summer  sea. 
Sunrise  trails  her  hair  of  gold 
O'er  the  waves  and  headlands  bold, 

But  no  brightness  comes  to  me. 

Through  death's  mist  I  cannot  see 
One  I  love  who  's  gone  from  me. 

Nor  the  Father's  pitying  heart. 
In  the  splendor  of  life's  way, 
In  the  perfect  summer  day, 

I  can  no  more  have  a  part. 

Lo !  from  out  the  cedar  hedge, 
Straight  unto  my  window-ledge. 

Bringing  message  joyously, 
Comes  like  a  brown-feathered  arrow 
Shot  from  unseen  bow,  a  sparrow. 

"  Cares  He  both  for  thee  and  me.': 


DAFFODILS 

"  If  I  had  but  two  loaves  of  bread,  I  would  sell  one 
and  buy  hyacinths." — The  Koran, 

0  DAFFODILS,  bright  daffodils, 

I '  d  sell  my  other  loaf  for  thee. 
Thou  art  so  sweet,  I  love  thee  so, 
That  thou  art  soul- bread  unto  me. 

1  've  placed  thee  in  a  crystal  vase, 

As  clear  as  crystal  vase  can  be; 
Hold  high  thy  pretty  yellow  heads, 
While  I  a  story  tell  to  thee. 

Once  up  each  side  a  garden  path 
Two  lines  of  daffodils  did  stray, 

Two  golden  chains  of  memory, 

That  link  my  childhood  with  to-day. 

Up  to  an  old  colonial  house, 

From  gate  to  doorsill,  side  by  side, 

Were  daffodils  in  yellow  gowns, 

Gay  daffodils — New  England's  pride. 

A  little  girl  stood  in  the  door, 

Her  heart  was  filled  with  love  for  thee, 
First  garden  flowers  of  the  spring, 

O  daffodils,  that  girl  was  me. 

39 


"  NIGHT'S  CANDLES   ARE   BURNED 
OUT" 

LAST  night  when  stars  were  lighted  one  by  one, 

Eyes  blue  as  summer  skies, 
And  bright  like  stars  that  shine — 
Dear,  dying  eyes, — 
Looked  into  mine. 


"  Night's  candles  are  burned  out,"  the  day  is 

here; 

The  radiant  blue  eyes 
So  bright,  like  stars  that  shone  — 
See  fairer  skies — 
I  am  alone. 


40 


WILD    VIOLETS 

"  WEAR  them,  and  think  of  me  to-day,"  I  said, 
And  fastened  violets  upon  her  dress. 

Their  perfume  wafted  upward  to  her  face, 
Like  some  fair  spirit's  loving,  fond  caress. 

They  stayed  with  her  through  all  that  spring 
tide  day, 
Those  wild  wood  blossoms, — why  were  they 

so  blest? 

And  when  the  stars  shone  in  the  evening  skies, 
Their  life-work  done,    they  died   upon   her 
breast. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   THE   SPRING 

WE  made  our  home  in  the  wilderness, 

The  wilderness  of  billowy  grass. 
That  rose  and  fell  at  the  tide  of  winds, 

But  lay  at  noontide  a  sea  of  glass. 

I  was  an  artist  who  sought  to  catch 
The  sunset's  glory  on  prairie  wide; 

A  picture  to  paint  was  my  fond  hope 
For  the  Salon — and  she  was  my  bride. 

Before  our  cottage  a  cottonwood  grew, 

Whose  heart-shaped  leaves,  like   humming 
bird's  wing, 

Fluttered  and  quivered  on  slender  stems, 
And  in  its  shadow  a  bubbling  spring. 

Summer  had  passed  as  a  spirit  by; 

The  cotton  wood's  leaves  were  sere  and  gray, 
And  the  cornstalks  stood  like  sentinels, 

Summer's  outposts,  that  sad  autumn  day. 


42 


THE  SPIRIT  OF   THE  SPRING 

But  alas,  the  sunset  I  had  sought 
To  capture  on  canvas  for  the  Salon 

Still  burned  in  the  sky  and  in  my  brain, 
And  the  radiant  summer  was  gone. 

The  noon  was  hot  and  breathless  and  still, 
The  white  clouds  rose  like  mountains  high, 

Peak  above  peak,  grim  giants  at  war, 
In  the  far-away  blue  western  sky. 

I  mounted  my  horse  that  sultry  noon, 
Not  heeding  her  voice  who  bade  me  stay, 

Nor  the  mute  appeal  of  her  white  arms 
Held  out  to  me  as  I  rode  away. 

I  rode  and  rode  for  many  a  mile, 
My  sombrero  down  over  my  eyes, 

And  smoked  cigarettes  and  cursed  my  fate, 
Till  a  tint  of  gray  crept  o'er  the  sky. 

Was  my  brain  maddened,  or  did  I  hear 
The  whisper  of  demon  from  below  ? 

"  There  '11  be  no  red  in  the  sunset  to-night; 
Paint  thou  the  prairie-fire's  red  glow." 


43 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SPRING 

The  air  was  breathless  and  still  and  hot, 
The  billowy  grass  a  motionless  sea, 

No  breeze  was  coming  from  east  or  west, 
I  threw  my  cigarette  far  from  me. 

A  torch  of  fire  my  cigarette, 

The  dry  grass  changed  to  fluttering  wings, 
Of  scarlet  and  gold,  then  serpents  crawled 

In  sinuous  paths,  like  living  things. 

Wild  with  delight  at  the  deed  I  had  done, — 
I  'd  not  taken  thought, — was  mine  the  blame 

That  like  a  demon  out  of  the  west, 

On  wings  of  blackness,  the  wild  wind  came  ? 

I  thought  of  Pharaoh' s  struggling  hosts, 
As  frantic  I  crossed  the  fiery  sea, 

To  rescue  her,  far  dearer  than  life, 

And  some  way  a  path  was  made  for  me. 

For  she  was  alone,  my  darling  one, 
In  the  fire's  path  our  cabin  stood; 

I  saw,  like  a  shower  of  falling  stars, 

The  blood-red  leaves  of  the  cottonwood. 


44 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SPRING 

Before  our  ruined  cabin  I  stood, 

Wild  with  despair  'neath  the  leafless  tree, 
Calling  my  darling's  name  o'er  and  o'er, 

Begging  my  darling  to  come  back  to  me. 

Up  out  of  the  spring  my  darling  came, 

A  look  of  ecstasy  on  her  face; 
My  picture —  * '  The  Spirit  of  the  Spring ' '  — 

In  the  Paris  Salon  had  a  place. 


45 


ALL   THAT   REMAINS 

IN  a  fair  southern  land  an  old  church  stands 

A  ruin,  with  curious  roof  of  tiles; 
Through   crumbling    arches    gray    star   tapers 
gleam, 

And  moonlight  shadows  wander  up  its  aisles. 

Through  rifts  in  broken  roof  sunbeams  caress 
The  pictured  face  of  saint  with  golden  hair; 

Time's  hand  has  blotted  out  each  one  save  hers 
Of  all  the  holy  faces  gathered  there. 

When  noble  lord,  and  peasant  too,  pass  by 
That  ancient  church  upon  their  several  ways, 

Before  the  saint  with  the  bright  golden  hair 
In  loving  homage  each  one  kneels  and  prays. 

Like  the  old  Spanish  church,  many  a  life 
A  ruin  now  once  was  a  holy  place, 

Upon  whose  walls  of  memory  still  hang, 
The  picture  of  some  loving,  saintly  face. 


A  ROUNDHEAD  AND  A  CAVALIER 

(BARRETT  AND  HIS  SPANIEL) 

O  BARRETT,  pretty  Roundhead, 

And  Bobby,  Cavalier, 
So  well  you  love  each  other, 

No  warfare  need  we  fear. 

I'll  drink  long  life  to  Barrett, 
In  milk,  with  love  sincere, 

And  pick  a  bone  with  Bobby, 
The  doggie  Cavalier. 


47 


BLUEBELL   CHIMES 

THE  bonnie  bluebells,  Scotland's  pride, 
The  chime-bells  of  the  flowers, 

By  breezes  swept,  ring  out  sweet  tunes 
Through  sunny  summer  hours. 

'T  is  aye  of  Scotland  that  they  sing, 
These  truest-hearted  flowers, — 

Of  poets,  heroes,  victories, 
Of  huts  and  palace  towers. 

Sometimes  the  bluebells  tender  grow, 

And  chime  a  plaintive  air 
Of  Mary,  loveliest  of  queens, 

Or  Highland  Mary  fair. 

Ofttimes  a  grand  old  hymn  they  ring, 

A  hymn  of  long-past  days, 
Sung  in  some  kirk  amidst  the  broom, 

A  heartfelt  song  of  praise. 

48 


BLUEBELL  CHIMES 

Of  love  and  home,  of  peace  and  war, 
These  flower  chime-bells  sing; 

Oh,  many,  many  are  the  songs 
The  bonnie  bluebells  ring. 

I  listen  to  them,  for  I  love 

The  little  alien  band 
Down  in  the  garden — and  I  hear 

Sweet  songs  of  their  "  ain  land." 


49 


FROM  OUT   HEAVEN'S   DOOR 

I  HEARD  sweet  music  yesterday 

As  music  from  a  star, 
I  fancied  he  whom  most  I  love 

Had  left  heaven's  door  ajar, 

That  I  might  hear  the  melody 
Which  day  by  day  he  hears: 

Ecstatic  joy  was  in  my  heart, 

Though  unto  my  eyes  came  tears. 


MY  HEART'S   CALENDAR 

THIS  is  my  heart's  brief  calendar, — 

April  it  holds  and  May. 
In  springtime  came  he  to  the  earth, 

In  springtime  passed  away. 

Brief,  brief  is  my  heart's  calendar, — 

It  holds  but  pages  two; 
My  saint's  day  marked  by  a  dear  face, 

With  eyes  of  azure  blue. 


REST 

OH,  thought  of  infinite  pity — 

To  sleep  an  aeon  or  two, 
With  never  a  care  or  sorrow, 

And  with  never  aught  to  do 

But  to  rest,  to  rest,  forgetting 
We  ever  have  sobbed  or  cried; 

Forgetting  that  those  who  love  us 
And  those  whom  we  love  have  died, 

When  all  we  have  done  that  is  harmful 
Like  shadows  shall  fade  away, 

And  when  only  truth  and  beauty 
With  us  forever  shall  stay. 

What  joy  to  wake  at  His  calling, 
To  wake  with  a  glad  surprise, 

At  touch  of  one  who  loves  us, 
And  to  look  into  well-loved  eyes! 

What  joy  to  be  led  at  dawning 
By  the  hand  that  we  love  best 

To  Him  who  had  infinite  pity, 
To  Him  who  gave  us  sweet  rest! 


THE   SUN   HAS   GONE   DOWN 

SUNSHINE  over  the  city, 
And  sunlight  upon  the  bay; 

Peace  and  hope,  joy  and  gladness, 
Life  but  a  bright  summer  day. 

Fog  and  mist  and  the  darkness 
Over  the  sea  and  the  town; 

Houses  and  ships  are  specters, 
For  oh,  the  sun  has  gone  down. 

Life  was  to  me  all  sunshine, 
When  out  on  the  shoreless  sea 

Sailed  one  I  love,  and  now 

The  sun  has  gone  down  for  me. 


SAINT   BARBARA 

BARBARA'S  eyes  are  brown, 

Barbara's  face  is  fair; 
With  halo  I  would  crown 

Barbara's  silken  hair. 

Barbara's  words  are  kind, 
Barbara's  words  are  wise; 

Generous  are  her  acts, 
And  truth  looks  from  her  eyes. 

She  ' '  seeketh  not  her  own, ' ' 
But  lifteth  up  the  faint; 

Shrined  in  many  a  heart, 
Love  canonized  her  saint. 


53 


WAITING  FOR  COLIN 

I  AM  growing  old;  my  hair, 

Once  so  golden,  is  now  white  like  snow, 
And  I  live  in  the  far-away  past, 

The  beautiful  long  ago. 

Ofttimes  I  stand  at  the  door 

Of  the  farmhouse,  my  earliest  home; 

The  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  hills, 
As  I  wait  for  Colin  to  come. 

Again  I  am  little  May; 

When  I  stand  on  the  doorsteps  so  high, 
The  hollyhocks  covered  with  crimson  flowers, 

Are  half  a  head  taller  than  I. 

The  wind  the  red  clover  sweeps, 

And  the  tinkling  of  bells  I  can  hear, 

The  cows  down  the  hillside  are  coming  now, 
I  know  that  Colin  is  near. 


54 


WAITING  FOR  COLIN 

He  was  true  to  me  until  death. 

Now  he  dwells  in  the  "Land  of  Light." 
I  have  been  lonely  for  many  years, 

But  Colin  seems  near  me  to-night. 

I  wait  for  Colin  always. 

He  will  come  when  sunset  is  bright. 
Again  I  '11  be  his  "  own  little  May," 

And  my  hair  be  golden,  not  white. 


55 


GOLDEN   BUTTERCUPS 

SHE  is  at  the  door, — 

Wild  flowers  she  doth  bring, 
Golden  buttercups, 

Day-time  stars  of  spring. 

She  is  at  the  door, — 

Graceful,  young,  and  fair, 

Buttercups  she  holds, 

Grouped  with  maidenhair 

She  is  at  the  door, — 

Vision  fair  to  see, 
Buttercups  of  spring, 

She  has  brought  to  me. 


NOT   FOR  ME 
(AFTER  THE  JAPANESE  OF  K.  IKADI) 

BEYOND  the  garden  wall 

A  fair  rose  groweth 
Stately  and  tall. 

"  Not  for  thee,  not  for  thee," 
Whispers  the  wind  that  bloweth 

Over  the  garden  wall. 

Upon  the  garden  wall 

A  white  rose  leaneth 
Graceful  and  tall. 

Not  for  me,  not  for  me. 
While  love's  fond  dream  I  dreameth 

Snowlike  its  petals  fall. 


57 


POSSIBILITIES 

THERE  are  caverns  under  the  sea, 
Prison-houses  of  seething  fire; 
On  waves  above,  like  a  dream  of  love, 
A  white-winged  boat  may  idly  float, 
A  fragile  craft,  a  sunbeam  mote, 
O'er  Nature's  heart  of  ire. 

Or  cities  of  marble  and  stone, 
That  from  blue  tropic  seas  arise, 
With  firefly  lights  on  rocky  heights, 
A  wave  may  sweep,  and  fathoms  deep 
Forever  may  lie  in  dreamless  sleep, 
Shut  out  from  the  star-gemmed  skies. 


WHENCE  AND   WHITHER 

WHENCE  came  the  summer  day, 
Trailing  its  golden  hair 

Across  the  hills  and  fields  ? 
Whence  came  the  day  so  fair  ? 

Where  went  the  summer  day, 
On  wings  of  burnished  gold, 

Of  amethyst  and  flame, 

Beyond  the  headland  bold  ? 

Whence  came  the  life  that  made 
My  life  a  summer  day  ? 

Whence  went  the  soul  that  took 
Light  from  my  life  away  ? 


59 


AFLOAT 

ON  long-past  midnight  skies 

Of  sapphire  afloat, 
'Mid  myriads  of  stars, 

There  sails  a  silver  boat. 

Beneath  a  star  it  dips 
Upon  its  lonely  way, 

And  drifts  a  helpless  wreck 
Into  the  harbor  —  day. 


NO   ROOM  AT  THE   INN 

No  place  is  there  at  the  inn; 

Each  room  is  filled  with  a  guest. 
No  place  for  the  Holy  Child, 

No  room  for  Mary  to  rest. 

Your  heart,  O  man,  is  an  inn! 

Oh,  have  you  ever  denied 
A  room  for  the  Holy  One, 

A  place  for  the  Crucified  ? 

60 


TO    THE    MINIATURE    OF    DOROTHY 
WENTWORTH 

Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Isidore  Burns,  Regent,  and  to 
all  members  of  Puerta  del  Oro  Chapter,  Daughters 
of  the  American  Revolution. 

BEAUTIFUL  ancestress  mine, 
Come  from  thy  oval  frame. 

Dorothy,  Dorothy,  come, — 
Listen,  I  call  thy  name. 

Come  in  thy  Empire  gown, 

Jewels  and  frills  of  lace; 
Come  with  thy  high-dressed  hair 

Crowning  thy  fair  young  face. 

Sit  in  the  gas-log's  glow, — 
Not  ingle  deep  and  wide, — 

Rest  on  the  cushions  soft, 
Dorothy,  at  my  side. 

Speak  of  Colonial  times, 

Tell  of  a  nation's  strife. 
Didst  thou  see  patriots  march 

To  sound  of  drum  and  fife  ? 

61 


DOROTHY  WENTWORTH 

Didst  thou  on  a  pillion  ride, 
In  quaint,  old-time  array  ? 

The  minuet  didst  thou  dance, 
And  on  the  spinnet  play  ? 

Tell  me  of  some  titled  youth, 
With  braided,  powdered  queue, 

Suit  of  satin,  dangling  sword, — 
I '  m  only  a  girl  like  you. 

As  star  in  the  far-off  sky 
For  me  thou  still  dost  shine, 

Though  an  hundred  years  there  are 
Between  thy  life  and  mine. 

Thou  cam'st  to  me  as  a  thought, — 
Else  why  did  I  call  to  thee, 

To  come  from  thy  oval  frame, 
Dorothy,  unto  me  ? 


62 


LANDSCAPE 
(A  KEITH) 

FOREGROUND  of  deep,  dark  forest  trees, 

Through  whose  branches  the  sunbeams  stray, 

The  bright' ning  vista  of  sylvan  path 
Leading  out  to  the  golden  day. 


MY  TRAVELER 

GOD  keep  all  who  travel  to-night 

By  sea  and  by  land. 
Father  in  heaven,  hold  them 

Safe  with  Thy  powerful  hand. 
Keep  them,  O  Father,  from  danger, — 

Danger  by  land  and  by  sea, — 
Safe  for  those  who  love  them, — 

This  is  my  prayer  to  Thee. 


THE  OLD  SLAVE'S   LAMENT 

THAR  was  singin',  thar  was  dancin' 

In  de  cabins  long  ago, 
An'  cotton  growin'  in  de  fields 

As  white  as  northern  snow. 
In  Massa's  house  lights  twinkled, 

An'  de  young  folks  danced  —  ho,  ho! 
Reckon  de  likes  ob  dose  good  times 

Pore  ole  Pete  will  neber  know. 

'Specks  de  birds  do  all  de  singin', 

An'  de  sunshine  all  de  dancin'  on  de  floor, 
An'  de  lights  go  twinkle,  twinkle, 

In  Massa's  house  no  more; 
Ole  Pete  is  sometimes  hungry, 

But  he  '11  let  the  chilluns  know 
Dar  was  singin',  dar  was  dancin' 

In  the  cabins  long  ago. 


WILD   POPPIES 

BEAUTIFUL  golden  wild  poppies, 
That  nod  in  the  soft,  balmy  air, 

Well  were  you  chosen  the  emblem 
Of  land  of  all  lands  most  fair. 

Who  planted  you,  golden  poppies  ? 

Were  you  here  when  the  world  was  new  ? 
Were  you  painted  by  the  morning  ? 

Do  you  mirror  the  sunset's  hue  ? 

Do  you  grow  from  seeds  of  bright  gold 
That  are  hidden  away  from  sight  ? 

Are  you  stars  come  down  from  the  sky, 
That  shine  in  the  radiant  light  ? 

Are  you  golden  cups  o'erflowing 
With  jewels  of  raindrops  and  dew  ? 

Why  are  you  so  constant-hearted 
To  the  State  that  has  chosen  you  ? 

With  gold  you  carpet  the  meadows 

Like  the  gold-paved  Land  of  the  Blest, — 

Wild  poppies,  the  flower  emblem 
Of  the  State  of  the  "  Golden  West." 


RE-CREATION 

EACH  day  the  world  is  formed  anew. 

God  speaks,  and  says,  ' '  Let  there  be  light. ' ' 
Between  each  day  there  is   a  grave, 

The  long,  dark,  silent,  sunless  night. 

Though  memory's  tapers  —  the  bright  stars  — 

Burn  on  the  altars  of  the  sky, 
We  should  not  gaze  regretfully 

Or  for  the  lost  days  vainly  cry. 

From  out  of  chaos  rises  fair, 

A  re-created  world  each  dawn, 
Another  Eden  given  man 

In  which  each  life  again  is  born. 

A  world  of  hope  and  joy  and  love, — 
Perchance  a  world  of  care  and  sorrow, — 

But  never  of  despair — oh,  no! 

A  new  world  will  be  ours  to-morrow. 


66 


A  RED   ROSE 

'T  WAS  but  a  line  from  an  old  Scotch  song, 

And  a  bonnie  rose  of  red. 
1 '  I  gave  my  Love  a  red,  red  rose, ' ' 

Were  the  song-words  that  he  said. 

"His  Love!  his  Love!" — glad  her  small 
hands  clasped 

The  rose,  for  she  loved  him  well. 
Oh,  never  a  sweeter  way  could  be 

Than  to  let  the  red  rose  tell. 


CAST   AWAY 

LIKE  ' '  the  base  Indian ' '  of  long  ago, 

You  "  cast  away  a  pearl," — 
I  wonder,  did  you  know? 

Aye,  in  the  dust  you  cast  a  true  heart  low, 

Your  own  white,  lustrous  pearl, — 
I  wonder,  did  you  know  ? 


IF 

O  MY  dead,  my  dead,  my  dead, 
If  only  you  might  draw  nigh, 

The  days  of  my  life  would  roll 
Like  golden  chariots  by. 

And  each  one  would  hold  a  king, 
And  love  would  the  scepter  be,- 

O  my  dead,  my  dead,  my  dead, 
If  you  could  come  back  to  me. 


68 


MEMORIAL   DAY 

IN  a  quiet  spot  beside  the  sea, 
'Neath  sobbing  pine-trees,   many,   many  miles 
away, 

Lies  a  soldier  brave. 
Like  a  pagan  woman  to  the  sun  I  cry, 

Decorate  his  grave. 

O  sun,  send  down  your  beams  most  brightly, 
Make  on  that  grave  mourned  by  the  ever-restless 
sea 

Blue  violets  grow. 
O  summer  wild-birds,  sing  o'  er  my  soldier  dead 

A  requiem  low. 

When  on  his  grave  tributes  of  flowers 
His  soldier  comrades  brave  shall  place,  they'll 
start  at  sight 

Of  violets  blue, 
Nor  dream,  at  prayer  of  mine,  for  love  of  him 

The  violets  grew. 


69 


ON  THE   BEACH 

THE  white-crested  waves  at  my  feet 
Tossed  a  piece  of  a  ship  lost  at  sea; 

I  seized  it  quick  with  my  trembling  hands, 
Then  tossed  it  away  from  me. 

In  fancy  I  saw  a  proud  ship, 

Homeward  bound  from  the  bright  sunset  land, 
And  naught  was  left  of  that  white-winged  bark, 

But  the  fragment  tossed  on  the  sand. 

No  avail  to  cast  it  away, 

For  the  waves  brought  it  back  to  the  strand, 
As  memory  brings  all  our  shipwrecked  hopes 

To  us  with  a  pitiless  hand. 


70 


FOR   THE   BOY   IS   AWAY 

No  noisy  crackeis  to  buy  this  year, 
No  danger  from  cannon  small  to  fear, 

For  the  boy  is  away. 

No  young  sun-browned  hands  the  flag  to  fling 
From  casement  high,  a  fluttering  wing, 

For  the  boy  is  away. 

No  merry  shout  when  rockets  shall  fly, — 
Arches  of  brightness  across  the  sky, — 

For  the  boy  is  away. 

No  powder-grimed  hands  and  face  this  year, 
But  sobs  for  me,  and  many  a  tear, 

For  the  boy  is  away. 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

THE  fog,  like  a  pillar  of  cloud, 

Rose  out  of  the  sea  high  and  higher; 

But  the  blood-red  sun,  as  it  sank  to  rest, 
Changed  the  pillar  of  cloud  to  fire. 


MARIPOSA   LILIES 

SHE  gave  me  a  handful  of  lilies, 
Wild  flowers  from  sunny  hillside; 

Beautiful  cups  of  gold  they  seemed 
At  the  hour  of  eventide. 

But  in  the  sunshine  of  morning 

They  opened  —  the  beautiful  things, 

The  jewel-gemmed  butterfly  lilies 
Had  found  and  fluttered  their  wings. 


72 


SO   LONG  AGO 

THE  stars  look  out  to-night  through  wandering 

banks 

Of  white  unfallen  snow. 
It  seems  so  long  ago 
Since  clover  blooms  bent  heavy  with  the  weight 

of  yellow  bees, 
So  long  since  leafy  trees 
Held  fluttering  branches  up  to  summer  skies. 
Life  seems  to-night  as  gray 
And  drear  and  limitless  as  plains  that  stretch 

away 

To  where  a  star  hangs  low, 
And  shines  through  wandering  banks 
Of  white  unfallen  snow. 


73 


AN   UNFINSHED   SONG 

UP  the  valley  rode  rancheros, 

Brave  with  trappings  gay, 
Homeward  from  the  vineyards  coming, 

At  the  close  of  day. 

To  the  tinkle  and  the  jangle 

(As  they  rode  along) 
Of  the  bells  upon  the  bridles, 

Sang  they  old  love  song. 

'  *  Do  you  love  me  ?     Do  you  love  me, 

Senorita,  fair? 
For  I  love  you,  for  I  love  you, 

Sweet,  with  dusky  hair." 

"I  will  tell  you,"  — then  the  sea-breeze, 

Willful,  or  in  play, 
Leaving  thus  the  song  unfinished, 

Tossed  her  words  away. 


74 


FOR   GOD'S   GLORY 

Suggested  by  a  sermon  of  the  Rev.  David  James,  of  San  Rafael. 

NOT  for  thy  joy  alone  art  placed  here, 

Sad  heart  bowed  low; 
Higher,  holier  is  thy  mission, 

God's  love  to  show. 

Stood  thou  beloved  in  pleasant  places, 

Where  the  sun  shone, 
Now,  in  the  wilderness,  'mid  shadows, 

Thou  art  alone. 

Remember,  soul,  't  is  for  God's  glory 

That  thou  art  here. 
Show  to  the  world  His  love  upholds  thee, 

Thou  hast  no  fear. 

Come  from  the  shadows  that  surround  thee, 

With  hasty  flight. 
The  glory  that  thou  showest  others 

Shall  be  thy  light. 

Forget  thyself,  thy  God  remember, 

Sing  a  glad  song. 
Stand  thou  in  sunlight  or  in  shadow, 

'Tis  not  for  long. 

75 


COUPLET 

(A  MOTTO   FOR   A  WOMAN'S   LIFE) 

LOVE  God,  and  one  true  man. 
Do  all  the  good  you  can. 


GOOD-NIGHT!     GOOD-NIGHT! 

GoOD-night,  good-night, 
The  stars  are  in  the  sky, 

The  moon,  a  silver  lantern,  swings 
Above  the  mountains  high. 

Good-night,  good-night, 
To  all  the  world,  my  sweet; 

But  in  some  castle-hall  of  dreams 
Content  may  our  souls  meet. 


A   ROSE-JAR 

You  and  I  in  the  starlight, 
O  but  the  world  was  fair ! 

'Twas  June,  and  there  were  roses, 
Roses  everywhere. 

Out  'neath  the  stars  together, 
O  but  the  stars  shone  bright ! 

My  hands  were  filled  with  roses 
Your  gift,  that  summer  night. 

Here  are  the  sweet  dried  rose-leaves, 
Ghosts  of  the  blossoms  dead, 

Memories  of  the  starlight, 

Though  summer  days  are  fled. 


77 


THROUGH  MY   EASTERN   WINDOW 

WHEN  the  sunlight  through  my  eastern  window 

cometh, 
Shadow  leaves  and  branches   flutter  on  the 

floor; 

And  the  gently-swaying  rose- vines  and  clematis 
Cling  in  dream-like  shadow  beauty  to  the  door. 

Through  my  eastern  window,  moonlight  ofttimes 

spreadeth 

Cloth  of  gold  —  a  royal  carpet — on  the  floor, 
And  rare  tapestries  of  fretted  pale-gold  hangeth 
Where  vine-shadows  clung  in  beauty  to  the 
door. 


MY   PLAYMATE 

"I  WILL  come  on  a  coal-black  horse; 

I  will  come  in  ten  years,  Fay, 
When  apple-blossoms  are  pink  and  white, 

In  the  merrie  month  of  May." 

'  T  was  my  little  playmate  who  spoke. 

I  was  eight  years  old  that  day. 
We  stood  in  the  orchard  under  the  trees, 

I  was  going  soon  away, 

Away  from  the  sea-swept  coast, 

Far  away,  o'er  hills  and  plains, 
To  where  rivers  rolled  over  sands  of  gold, 

And  mountains  had  golden  veins. 

He  said  :    "To  the  sunset  I  '11  ride, 

I  shall  never  lose  my  way; 
Remember  and  watch  when  apple-trees  bloom, 

In  the  merrie  month  of  May. ' ' 

79 


MY  PLAYMATE 

When  my  playmate  left  me  for  school, 
From  his  small  blouse,  blue  and  white, 

He  brushed  away  just  a  few  boyish  tears, 
Then  he  vanished  from  my  sight. 


In  front  of  our  cabin  I  stand, 
Our  home  on  the  mountain  side, 

In  one  hand  are  blossoms  of  wild  plum-trees, 
From  the  canon  deep  and  wide, 

And  I  shade,  with  one  sun-browned  hand, 

My  eyes  from  the  eastern  sun, 
And  look  for  a  rider  upon  a  black  horse  — 

I  'm  sure  my  playmate  will  come. 


80 


SYMPATHY 

IF  you  but  touch  my  hand  ever  so  lightly, 
Or  speak  a  kindly   word,   or  on  me  fondly 

smile, 

Full  lighter  grows  the  burden  of  my  sorrow, 
And  in  life's  sunshine  happy  stand  I  for  a 
while. 

Some  gift  of  yours  —  perhaps  a  fragile  flower, 
Or  your  dear  presence  for  a  moment  at  my 
side, 

Oft  makes  my  pathway  gay  with  sudden  roses, 
And  the  barred  gates  of  Paridise  to  open  wide. 


81 


A   WINTER'S   DAY 

(CALIFORNIA) 

TO-DAY  I  hold  pink  rose-buds,  lilies  white, 

Daisies,  and  wildwood  violets  in  my  hand; 
Dark  ivy  to  the  casement  clings, 

The  sea  a  sapphire  gleams,  an  emerald  the 

land. 

A  tiny  shadow  —  't  is  a  tropic  bird  in  flight, 
That  cuts  a  sunbeam  with  its  wings, 
Its  scarlet  wings, 
And  glad  song  sings. 

Such  is  fair  California's  winter  day. 

Where  is  the  sparkling,  dazzling,  icy  crown  ? 
The  ermine  robe  on  plain  and  hill? 

The  last  year's  empty  nest  in  branches  brown  ? 
The   snow   on   trees?      The   little   snow-birds? 

Flown  away  ? 

The  frozen  lake?     The  moonlight  still  ? 
The  moonlight  still 
On  icy  hill? 
82 


A  WINTER'S  DAY 

Where   are  the   branches   bending   'neath   the 

snow? 

The  silver  fringe  upon  the  eaves  ? 
The  marble  of  the  hills  and  dells  ? 

The  north  wind  scattering  far  the  dry  brown 

leaves  ? 
The  frost  upon  the  panes  ?   The  firelight's  bright 

glow? 

The  merry,  merry  sound  of  bells  ? 
The  sound  of  bells 
Through  icy  dells  ? 

Grim  Winter  heard  upon  the  mountains  tall 

The  softly  wooing  voice  of  the  fair  tropic  sea, 
Felt  kisses  of  the  warm,  sweet  air, 

The  flower-filled  air,  that  whispered,  "Come 

with  me." 

Dropped  ermine  robe,  let  icy  scepter  fall, 
And  stole  from  mountains  down  to  land  of  all 
most  fair, 

To  land  most  fair, 
From  icy  air. 


WAITING 

I  AM  sitting  by  the  fireside^alone. 

'  T  is  a  weary  watch  I  keep. 
In  the  chambers  just  above  the  blue, 

All  my  loved  ones  are  asleep. 


IF   EVERY  SOUND  WAS    STILLED 

IF  every  sound  was  stilled, 
No  flutter  of  a  bird, 
Nor  leaf  on  tree  was  stirred, 
Could  I  thy  footsteps  hear  ? 

I  question  o'  er  and  o'  er, 
For  thou  perhaps  art  far 
From  me  as  any  star, 
Could  I  thy  footsteps  hear? 


84 


JUNE 

THE  clover-fields 
Are  a-bloom  to-day. 

With  the  weight  of  bees, 
The  blossoms  sway, 

Red  blossoms  of  clover-fields. 

From  an  unseen  where, 

On  an  unseen  way, 
Sunlight  and  shadows, 

Now  gold,  now  gray, 
Flit  over  the  clover-fields. 

While  yellow  bees  drone 

A  lazy  tune, 
All  about  honey  — 

For,  oh,  it  is  June, 
And  red  are  the  clover-fields. 


A   KISS 

THE  rose  you  gave  me  yesterday 

I  fastened  to  my  dress; 
The  perfume  of  the  sweet  white  rose 

Was  like  a  fond  caress. 

The  air  with  sunbeams  was  afloat, 
'T  was  near  the  day's  bright  close 

A  sunbeam  paused  on  yellow  wings, 
And  kissed  the  sweet  white  rose. 


WINDS   FROM   THE   SEA 

WHAT  you  do  I  may  not  do, 

Kiss  her  forehead  fair, 
Bring  the  roses  to  her  cheeks, 

Ripple  her  bright  hair. 

Never  touch  of  mine  has  brought 

Rose-tints  to  her  face; 
Though  I  love  her,  ne'er  have  I 

In  her  heart  a  place. 


86 


A  SPARROW'S   FALL 

IN  the  garden-path  a  dead  bird  lieth, 
No  flutter  of  wing  for  an  upward  flight. 

It  died  when  the  moon  —  a  lamp  low  hanging  — 
Shed  on  the  earth  its  silvery  light. 

Now  a  holy  place  the  garden  seemeth, 
In  the  early  dawn  of  a  spring  day  fair, 

For  One  came  at  sound  of  the  sparrow's  crying, 
He  noted  its  fall,  and  was  with  it  there. 


ELUSIVE 

HAPPINESS  beckons  from  over  the  hills, 
In  the  golden  glory  of  sunset  skies, 

And  we  follow  the  toilsome  way  that  leads 
To  the  beautiful  land  of  tropic  dyes. 

But  lo!  when  the  purple  hills  are  climbed, 
All  is  cold  and  drear  in  the  early  dawn, 

While  happiness  smiles,  as  backward  we  glance, 
In  the  sunrise  skies  of  a  summer  morn. 


87 


MY  STAR 

SOMETIME  I  '11  dwell  in  a  star, 

It  is  given  me  to  know, 
In  the  hush  of  a  summer  night 

It  was  whispered  soft  and  low. 

Ofttimes  I  gaze  on  my  star. 

'T  is  in  northern  skies  to-night. 
It  glimmers  and  gleams  and  glints, 

My  beautiful  world  of  light. 

And  you,  on  the  sky-sea  wrecked, 
Close  clinging  to  moonbeam  spar, 

Floating  and  drifting  will  come 
To  me  in  my  island-star. 


88 


DANDELION   DOWN 

WHERE  are  you  winging,  ghost  of  a  flower  ? 

You   seemed   but   a   star    in   the   springtide 

bright. 
Where  are  you  wafting,  drifting,  floating, 

Down  of  a  blossom,  feathery  white  ? 

You  '11  frighten  roses  with  thoughts  of  dying; 

They'll  shiver  and  shudder  at  you  so  white. 
You  've   found    your   wings,    soft   tipped   with 
silver, 

And  spirit-like  drift  in  the  pale  moonlight. 

Oh,  cease  your  wanderings,  wraith  of  a  flower, 
Oh,  hide  yourself  in  the  moist,  brown  mould, 

And  another  springtime  the  sun  will  kiss  thee 
Back  to  a  star-like  blossom  of  gold. 


89 


CHRISTMAS   EVE 

No   stocking   dangles  near  the  glowing  grate 

to-night. 

The  story  of  the  Holy  Child  I  have  not  told. 
I  have  not  bade  good-night,  or  kissed  a  little  face, 
Nor  twined  around  my  fingers  curls  of  shin 
ing  gold. 

But,  I  have  wreathed  green  leaves  and  berries 
red  about 

The  pictured  face  of  one  I  love  the  best  of  all — 
A  boyish,  loving,  happy  face  that  now  is  but  — 

To  other  eyes  — a  painted  shadow  on  the  wall. 


90 


AWAKE 

A  WILD  bird  shrilly  pipes  : 
"Awake!  awake!  awake! 

Come  from  your  fair,  sweet  dream, 
Again  your  burden  take. 

"  Open  your  eyes  to  weep, 
Longer  you  may  not  stay 

In  dreams  with  your  loved  dead. 
Awake !  awake !  '  t  is  day. ' ' 

Hast  thou  no  pity,  none, 
Wee  brown  bird  of  the  air, 

To  call  me  back  to  earth 

From  dream  so  sweet  and  fair  ? 


AT   BETHLEHEM 

AGAIN  I  stand  on  the  housetop 

At  Bethlehem-—  "House  of  Bread,"  — 
With  the  holy  stars  above  me, 

That  shone  o'er  the  Christ  Child's  head. 

I  wrap  my  bernouse  about  me, 

As  chill  dews  fall  on  my  hair, 
And  alone,  in  Bethlehem's  starlight, 

Fall  on  my  knees  in  prayer. 

Here,  once  on  Bethlehem's  housetop, 

I  stood  at  my  brother's  side; 
We  spoke  of  the  infant  Jesus, 

And  of  Him  the  Crucified, 

And  wondered  which  of  the  star-lamps 
That  shone  in  the  deep  blue  sky, 

Had  stood  o'er  the  manger-cradle, 
When  holy  Magi  drew  nigh. 

92 


AT  BETHLEHEM 

Bright  over  the  mountains  of  Moab, 
Peeped  the  golden  edge  of  the  moon, 

As  we  spoke  of  Judah's  shepherd, 
And  King  David's  harp  a-tune. 

Jerusalem  slept  in  the  moonlight, 

At  the  north,  not  far  away, 
And  Judea's  hills  watched  over 

The  place  where  loved  Rachel  lay. 

Now  alone  I  stand  on  the  housetop 
At  Bethlehem  — "House  of  Bread,' '- 

With  the  holy  stars  above  me, 
Like  Rachel,  I  mourn  my  dead. 


93 


THE   MAN  WITHOUT   THE   HOE 

PITY,  your  pity  I  crave, 

For  the  man  without  the  hoe. 

Slender  fingers,  blue-veined  brow, 
Oh,  many  such  one  you  know. 

Muscles  of  iron  are  his, 

The  man  who  handles  the  hoe; 

His  heritage  handed  down 
From  ancestors  long  ago. 

God  in  the  Angelus  speaks 

Unto  ' '  The  man  with  the  hoe.' ' 

Soft  bells,  a  reverent  pause, 
A  prayer,  with  head  bowed  low. 

Never  a  fear  for  his  bread 

Frightens  "The  man  with  the  hoe." 
Strong  arms  are  needed  ever, 

And  there  's  always  seed  to  sow. 

94 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  THE  HOE 

No  flights  of  fancy  are  his, 
No  flutterings  up  to  the  stars; 

No  beating  of  feeble  hands 
Upon  Fate's  unyielding  bars. 

Sing  not  of  chains  unto  him, 
To  the  man  who  holds  the  hoe, 

For  mighty  Js  his  brawny  arm, 
And  powerful  to  o'erthrow. 

But  pity,  your  pity,  I  crave, 
For  the  man  without  the  hoe. 

Slender  fingers,  blue-veined  brow, 
Oh,  many  such  one  you  know. 


95 


TOO   SOON 

THE  moon  rides  like  a  silver  boat  to-night 

Upon  the  clouds,  white-crested  sky-sea  waves. 
From  solemn  pine  an  eagle  wings  its  flight 

To  lofty  crags  and  peaks  and  lonely  caves. 
Through  bare,  brown  branches  of  the  forest  trees, 

The  wind,  with  voice  of  Indians  of  long  ago, 
Wails  down  the  canon  then,  like  summer  breeze, 

Whispers  to  hardy  mountain-flower  low. 
A  timid  deer,  down  to  a  lake  so  clear, 

It  mirrors  a  bright  star  that  shines  on  high, 
Comes  down  a  trail  strewn  with  leaves  sere  and 
brown. 

To  drink  under  the  star-gemmed  sky. 


The  clouds  have  blotted  out  the  crescent  moon, 
And  the  bright  stars  in  sky  and  lake  of  blue, 

As  light  is  blotted  out  of  life  too  soon 

By  hand  we  trusted  and  believed  were  true. 


96 


ANCESTOR   MINE 

HE  hangs  upon  the  wall,  ancestor  mine,  — 
No  powdered  wig,  nor  queue  with  ribbon  tied, 
No  ruffled  shirt,  nor  shoes  with  buckles  wide, 
No  dangling  sword  he  wears  or  feathers  fine, 
No  knighted  hero  he  of  wars  long  past. 
He  sits  in  tiny  elbow-chair  of  old, 
A  little  boy  with  hair  of  shining  gold. 
In  dimpled  hand  a  crimson  whip  holds  fast, 
A  suit  of  mauve,  with  frills  of  dainty  lace, 
Bright  scarlet  shoes,  a  brooch  of  jewels  rare. 
His  sweet  young  self  looks  out  of  ancient  frame 
With  eyes  of  deepest  blue  —  a  soulful  face  — 
A  gentle  mouth,  yet  firm,  and  face  most  fair. 
My  great-great-grandfather,  the  wee  one's  name. 


97 


CONCEALING,     REVEALING 

NIGHT,  with  wings  of  darkness  spread, 

Much  thou  dost  conceal; 
Shutting  out  the  light  of  day, 

More  thou  dost  reveal. 

Earth  becomes  a  shadow  land, 

Ships  but  specters  white; 
Houses  are  but  phantoms  dim, 

In  thy  wrapped  arms,  Night. 

Thou  it  is  the  round  moon  shows 

Mirror  of  the  sun, 
Soft  reflecting  golden  rays, 

Though  the  day  is  done. 

When  the  shadow  of  thy  wings 

Falls  on  land  and  sea, 
Blotting  out  one  little  world, 

To  infinity, 

Spreads  the  blue  of  skies  that  hold 

Myriad  worlds  of  light, — 
Little  doth  thy  wings  conceal, 

Much  reveal,  O  Night. 
98 


DO  THEY   KNOW? 

Do  the  loved  dead  know  in  their  bright  heav 
enly  home 
When  on  their  dreamless  beds  are  laid  earth's 

flowers  sweet  ? 

When  blue  forget-me-nots  and  lilies  white 
Upon  their  lonely  beds  the  wild-flowers  meet  ? 

It  were  not  strange  if  earthly  flower-full  hands 
And  angel  hands  should  bridge  death's  river 
dark  and  wide, 

Or  if,  our  Father,  earth's  fair  fading  flowers 
Should  make  immortal  on  the  heavenly  side. 


99 


COMPENSATION 

DARK  clouds  rolled  over  the  sky, 
And  but  one  star  could  I  see; 

I  cried  in  my  wild  despair  — 
Let  the  bright  star  shine  for  me. 

But  the  purple  clouds  rolled  on 
And  hid  the  star  from  my  sight; 

When  lo,  where  the  clouds  had  been 
The  fair  moon  was  shining  bright. 


BEREAVED 

I  KNOW  that  the  springtide  will  come  again, 
That  apple-blossoms  will  fall  like  snow, 

That  the  sunsets  over  the  tropic  sea 
Will  be  golden-bright  as  a  year  ago. 

That  up  from  the  garden  the  jasmin's  perfume 
Will  waft  just  as  sweet  as  in  other  years, 

That  earth  will  be  fair,  and  the  stars  will  shine, 
Though  dimly  I  see  through  a  mist-veil  ol 
tears. 


100 


ROSES  THAT  CLIMB   THE  WALL 

OVER  high  walls  on  a  city  street, 

Red  roses  wander  and  swing, 
As  if  they  loved  the  hurrying  crowd, — 

They  could  do  no  sweeter  thing. 

For  hearts  are  sorry  and  mourn  their  dead, 

And  bread  is  hard  to  win; 
There  may  be  fairer  flowers  than  these 

The  garden  walls  within. 

But  oh,  the  roses  that  climb  the  wall, 

Are  the  roses  that  I  sing; 
For  unto  the  weary,  toiling  ones 

A  thought  of  beauty  they  bring. 


'THE  SHADOW   OF    A   GREAT  ROCK 
IN   A   WEARY   LAND" 

THE  noontide  heat  lay  on  the  desert  vast, 

And  steel  blue  canopy  of  sky 

Spread  o'er  a  weary  land; 

No  cooling  water-spring,  with  fringe 

Of  green  and  stately  palm ; 

No  fluttering  soft  breeze, — 

Only  the  tropic  calm. 

Toiling  across  the  sand,  a  caravan. 

But  lo,  a  mighty  rock  its  shadow  cast, 

A  refuge  to  the  fainting  ones  at  last. 


Crossing  life's  desert,  on  its  burning  sands 
We  rest  within  the  shadow  of  the  Christ, 
Our  Rock  in  weary  land. 


102 


AWAY   FROM   HOME 

BEAUTIFUL  butterfly,  brown  and  white, 
With  spots  of  black  and  gold, 

Why  are  you  here  in  the  city's  street  — 
The  city  so  somber  and  old  ? 

' '  The  roses  red  and  the  roses  white, 
That  climb  on  the  garden  wall, 

To  my  clover-field  a  message  sent, 
And  I  came  at  their  loving  call." 


THE  WICKED  TYPHO 

TISI-TI  made  a  song  of  love, 

For  the  beautiful  Musuma; 
But  Typho,  spirit  of  adverse  winds, 

Wafted  the  song  away. 

The  Musuma  so  young  and  fair, 

Heard  the  song  of  Tisi-ti; 
She  thought  't  was  her  lover  called  to  her, 

And  soared  away  to  the  sky. 


103 


MY   MOTHER'S   BIRTHDAY 

TO-DAY'S  my  mother's  birthday,  yet  I  cannot 

lay 

Fair  flowers  on  her  grave,  it  is  so  far  away, 
Nor  whisper,  with  my  face  among  the  daisies 

wild, 
To  her,  "I  love  you,  mother;  do  you  hear  your 

child?" 

And  so,  alone,  I  sit  in  revery  to-night, 
And  wonder  if  earth's  birthdays  in  that  land  of 

light 
They  keep,  or  count  it  life  when  through  the 

pearly  gate, 

They  enter  in  the  city  paved  with  gold.     I  wait 
An  answer,  but  the  night  wind  hurries  by, 
No  answer   comes  to   me   from  out   the   star- 
gemmed  sky. 


104 


CALIFORNIA  VIOLETS 
(AN  INVITATION) 

ON  the  Atlantic's  shores  the  fierce  north  winds, 

I  know, 
Autumn's  brown  leaves  are  scattering  far  and 

near, 
And  flowers  are  withered  by  the  frost's  cold 

touch, 
While  violets  are  here. 

Here  in  the  sunset  land  the  tender  grass 

Is  covering  hill  and  dale  with  "living  green," 

And  fretted  in  —mosaics  rare  of  blue — 
Are  violets  between. 

And  soon  the  golden  poppies  of  this  land 
Will  flame  in  splendid  beauty  everywhere. 

The  roses  and  the  jasmin  sweet  will  fling 
Their  perfume  on  the  air. 

Oh,  come  unto  this  land  so  fair,  and  stay 

While  snow  is  on  the  pines  and  days  are  drear. 

Come,  where  the  sun  glints  through  the  broad- 
leaved  palms, 
For  violets  are  here. 

105 


METEMPSYCHOSIS 

THE  sun  looks  down,  the  moon  looks  down 

On  Keti's  grave  by  the  sea; 
Her  soul  now  dwells  in  blossoms  pink 

That  grow  on  the  Tansi-tree. 

I  hold  the  blossoms  to  my  face, 
My  tears  fall  on  them  like  dew. 

There  are  many  maidens  in  Japan, — 
Sweet  Keti,  I  love  but  you. 

When  snow  on  Fusiyami  lies 

My  soul- wife  is  lost  to  me; 
But  she  comes  again  with  blossoms  pink, 

That  grow  on  the  Tansi-tree. 

O  Buddha,  Buddha,  hear  my  prayer! 

Change  me  to  a  honey-bee, 
That  I  may  hover  o'er  blossoms  pink 

That  grow  on  the  Tansi-tree. 


106 


JAPANESE   LOVE-SONG 

I  AM  a  ministrel  poor, 
(Ting-a-ling,  ling-a-le); 

She  's  a  chrysanthemum  — 
What  can  she  care  for  me  ? 

Silk  her  kimona  is, 

Jewel-pins  hold  her  hair, 
(Ting-a-ling,  ting-a-ling), 

What  can  she  for  me  care  ? 

Yet  to  the  moon  I  '11  sing 
'Neath  window  of  my  sweet, 

(Ting-a-ling,  heart  of  mine), 
A  rose  falls  at  my  feet. 


107 


"A   CASTLE   IN   SPAIN" 

Once  she  owned  ' '  a  castle  in  Spain ' ' . 

It  was  azure  and  gold  and  white  ; 
Ofttimes  on  its  pavements  she  walked  — 

Not  alone — when  the  moon  shone  bright. 

Sometimes  to  this  castle  afar — 
This  beautiful  " castle  in  Spain"  — 

She  goes,  and  her  footsteps  echo 
On  its  gold-fretted  stones  again. 

And  the  Prince  of  the  Castle  sighs, 

' '  The  ghost-lady  walks  again ; 
She  comes  in  the  moonlight  no  more, 

She  comes  with  the  patter  of  rain. ' ' 


108 


CHOOSING  A  DESTINY 

UNTO  the  temple  I  come, 

The  temple  with  golden  bells; 

I  stand  on  the  pavement  white, 
I  listen  for  what  my  heart  tells. 

Shall  I  grasp  the  soft  silken  cord 
And  ring  for  the  Goddess  of  Fame  ? 

A  bulbul  out  on  a  tree, 

Sings  softly  sweet  Midi's  name. 

Shall  I  choose  the  bright  swinging  rope, 
That  gleams  like  the  sunset  skies, 

And  summon  the  Goddess  of  Wealth  ? 
My  jewels  are  Midi's  eyes. 

I  hold  the  azure-blue  cord 
I  have  chosen  among  the  bells. 

I  call  for  the  Goddess  of  Love. 

I  have  listened  to  what  my  heart  tells. 


109 


SOMETIME 

SOMETIME  she  '11  fall  asleep, 
And  none  for  her  may  weep  — 

Last  of  her  race  — 
When  she  winged  her  flight, 
Like  bird  far  out  of  sight, 

Out  into  space. 

How  looks  the  Land  she  '11  find  ? 
What  faces  sweet  and  kind 

Shall  she  first  see  ? 
Among  the  "  mansions"  there, 
Fitted  with  loving  care, 

Which  shall  hers  be? 

Never  a  Land  so  fair, 
Nought  with  it  can  compare 

That  eye  hath  seen; 
Rainbows  without  a  storm, 
Roses  without  a  thorn, 

Fields  sunlit  green. 

no 


SOMETIME 

One  loved,  so  tall  and  fair, 
With  burnished  golden  hair, 

And  eyes  of  blue, 
Her  last  of  earth  to  love, 
Will  greet  her  first  above, 

Forgetless,  true. 

Holding  his  oft-missed  hand 
In  that  fair  heavenly  land, 

Where  comes  no  night, 
With  never  death  to  bar, 
They  '11  roam  from  star  to  star 

In  rapt  delight. 

Close  by  the  "Crystal  Sea," 
There  shall  her  mansion  be, 

On  headland  bold. 
Walls  like  to  opals  fair, 
Studded  with  jewels  rare. 

And  beaten  gold. 

Down  where  the  lilies  grow 
Breast-high  and  white  as  snow, 

The  Christ  she  '11  meet. 
Tears  he  has  wiped  away, 
Pure,  lustrous  pearls,  she  '  11  lay 

At  His  dear  feet. 

in 


SOMETIME 

She  '  11  fall  asleep  sometime, 
And  wake  in  that  fair  clime 

Where  her  heart  dwells. 
No  idle  tale  is  this, 
Of  endless,  perfect  bliss, 

My  song  foretells. 


112 


HIS   LITTLE  SUN-BROWNED   HAT 

FROM  the  dark  closet's  highest  shelf 

I  took  his  small  hat  down, 
His  little  hat  with  ragged  brim, 

Sun-browned,  with  broken  crown. 

I  fancied  I  should  hear  his  step 
Come  bounding  up  the  stair, 

Should  see  his  merry,  laughing  eyes, 
His  burnished,  wind-tossed  hair. 

I  held  it  with  caressing  hands, 
And  cried,  ' '  Come  back  to  me 

And  claim  the  little  sun-browned  hat. ' ' 
Alas,  it  cannot  be! 


113 


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